I, One
by Shadray
Summary: Edward knew, theoretically, there was no way to return from the other side of the Gate. Unless...
1. Truth

Author's Note- I only have one wish, and that is to write a story that is somewhat comparable to the writing talent of Kristen Elizabeth (a writer on this site). Until then, I'll keep writing fanfiction on here.

This story is an intricate, multi-chaptered one that I outlined one night when bored. I really hope it is enjoyed.

* * *

_-I, One,_ by Shadray-

Death.

It was the only word to describe it. The indescribable surge vaulting through his body…

"_M_- _Mom_?!"

The wind whipped through the atmosphere with the intensity of a million daggers, violently throwing curtains of golden hair around like victims of a tornado. The young man's breath ceased for a moment, his heart slammed against his chest with each pounding beat, as he fought vainly to ignore the vehement vaulting and churning in his stomach.

"What the hell is…?!"

The words had barely stumbled out of his dry mouth before she smiled elegantly up at him, the way she always used to. "My…Edward…" She extended her hand to him as if to touch his shaking body, and he, not knowing what to think, extended his as well, hoping desperately her body was as substantial as it appeared to be, although the two were still too far apart to touch. "Edward…."

The former alchemist gaped, wide-eyed, as she gradually approached, looming closer to view. Her dress billowed in the violent wind as she silently drew ever nearer, stepping forward with the gracefulness of the midnight moonlight. After so many years of living in a world in which he did not belong, Edward Elric found life in seeing someone from his past—without him having to snap open his eyelids and realize, not for the first time, that he had only imagined it.

But _this_?

Life certainly wasn't the only thing he had found. Yes—death was more like it.

And, with an inch of space left between the two, the woman's shape began to distort and blur like that of a lens focusing far too intensely on one object. Taken aback, he shut his eyes tightly, but by the time they had reopened, the image of his mother had faded out and been replaced by that of a childlike figure, looking up calmly at him and murmuring, "Hello, Edward Elric."

Ed, initially, could do nothing but stare blankly at the figure, vaguely realizing how distinctly familiar it was. For a moment, there was nothing to do but gawk as he desperately searched to find his voice, to say something, anything, to the eerie, insubstantial, misty, _inhuman_ being before him.

This being—this _thing_—was…

Small beads of sweat trickled down his temples as he swallowed and, finally finding his voice, stuttered, "You're back…"

"So, you haven't forgotten, then?" The small figure before him smiled in what was meant to be a comforting manner, and spoke in a gentle, soft voice. "You haven't forgotten our last meeting?" Completely unaffected by the passionate winds whipping through the vicinity, the childlike being broadened its smile into a wide, toothy grin.

"You're…Truth, aren't you?" the former alchemist asked softly, vaguely realizing what this could mean.

" 'Truth', the god of Death, the god of Life…. Countless aliases, but only one entity. Put simply, I try to…" It declined its head, circling Edward as if studying him. "…keep the universe stabilized." The figure paused and looked up at him. "But what about you?"

Ed merely stared at the being, not knowing how to respond.

"Have you wondered...who _you_ are? Not that it matters, really," it added, "since your predetermined string of fate ends now. Still, after all that alchemical meddling you so foolishly performed, you _should_ have been wondering it, at least..." There was a pause in which the entity studied the frowning young man before it. "Shall I sum it up and conclude incase you do not comprehend?" it inquired, its thin mouth curling into a devilish smirk. "You see, Edward Elric, you've misbalanced the world, and so…" Its voice hardened. "…_I want an equivalent exchange_."

He gaped at the spirit before him, vaguely realizing what it was insinuating. "No…!"

"And I want it_…__**now**_."

-

_Black_.

Black as the void between good and evil. Black as a shadow hidden, shrinking, trembling within its own ominous gloom. Black as night. Black as the universe. Black as everything. Black as nothing.

And then—

_White._

A small yet significant shimmer of white illumination emerged invitingly from a partly open gate. And as the golden-haired man neared it, he found himself wondering profusely on what was on the opposite end.

He extended his arm to feel the gate before him, brushing the palm of his hand over it long enough to sense its cold, hard texture. It seemed almost unreal.

But unreal things were not tangible, right?

_So… _he concluded, still running his hand over the thing and not yet daring to peer inside the cracked doors, _I'm here again… aren't I?_

And suddenly, the strange illumination emerging from the door was no longer neither light nor dark, but, disturbingly, something precisely in between. It was true that the tiny bit of radiance provided him the means to accurately see the opened doors before him—but it was that same bit of radiance that provided him the means to accurately see _into_ the opened doors.

Thousands of pairs of eyes stared back at him, blinking, watching his every movement, his every twitch, his every expression. Unable to tear his gaze away, he squinted to look deeper.

Past the eyes was something he hadn't yet seen. Images of birth, of death, of pain, torture—bloodcurdling screams of agony—unknown secrets of the inhabitants of the world—babies and infants bawling dreadfully— And past that, farther into the depths of nothingness, was his second and last glimpse of "the truth."

"Damn it…" Edward whispered, shoving the loose strands of unbraided hair out of his eyes. He knew what had happened the last time he had entered this place; it seemed that one only saw the Gate when his or her life was—due to the improper use of alchemy—in great, great danger.

"So what the hell…does this mean, then?" he muttered to himself, frustrated.

And when a high-pitched, childlike voice emanating from seemingly nowhere answered his question, he knew he should not have asked. His head jerked violently in the direction the voice seemed to be coming from.

"Why don't _you_ tell _me_ the answer to that question, Edward Elric?" A mirror image of himself materialized before him, giving Ed the distinct impression that the spirit twas now toying with him. "After all, you do _love_ bending the rules, don't you?"

His stomach lurched.

"And you _do_ love defying the will of God, don't you?" the spirit continued, still taking on the shape of Edward, who, now shaking nervously, was thinking very quickly. "So tell me: Why is it that, even after being sent to Earth for five years of your pitiful life, there's still been so much trouble back in the 'alchemy' world? Why is it that 50 percent of that trouble centers around _you_? And, most importantly," it snarled, "_why the fuck haven't you been killed yet?_"

"_What the hell are you_—?!"

"Please—**s****it****down**."

And, as if on cue, his legs immediately gave way. The ex-alchemist struggled to stand and somehow run the hell out, but the only result was further shaking and sweating of his body. He gasped for air in what suddenly seemed to be a space of exponentially depleting oxygen.

The spirit shook its head pityingly. "You still have no clue why this is happening, or who I am…yet you have the audacity to use such language toward me? A bit…sad, your kind—but maybe _this_ will ease things."

Slowly, "Truth" was morphing into the shape of a different human, one with flowing, brown hair, light skin, and familiar eyes…

Edward had lost all dignity. "Mom… _Please…_"

"Edward, I'm really sorry…" she sobbed. "This was the last thing I thought I'd ever do, son, but… " Her voice was gentle—as soft and comforting as it always used to be. "But I…" And her glistening eyes… they seemed deeper than ever. "…am going to have to"—the woman swallowed—"_kill you_."

"_Please—_"

His voice breaking, his mouth trembling, Edward muttered a final word to her:

"_Mom_…."

Struggling to tear his eyes away, to scream desperately for help, his body shook violently.

Lips moved but no sound emerged. When he tried to shout mentally, no thoughts came. His mind and body seemed blank, useless, as dozens of bony, pale, decaying hands reached out from the depths of the Gate, grabbed his desperately struggling body, and dragged it into hell.

---

Author's note- Um... Wow. Yeah, if you're confused, don't worry; so am I. This is not a one-shot, and this chapter was actually only a prelude to the actual story. If possible, could you please review?


	2. Fratricide

Author's Note- Yes, it took me a year to update…mostly because I was afraid of ruining a perfectly good beginning to a story by adding a second chapter. You don't have to be so mean about it. Please review if you have the time, and Happy '08, everyone! (Again, I apologize for the HORRIBLE delay in uploading this… I admit that I've had it written for about 7 months now…)

Disclaimer: I didn't own FMA in 2007, but as of 2008… (Smirks.)

* * *

_I used to wonder why the letter "I" looks so similar to the number "1".  
__It's because I and 1 are the same.  
__That's what Teacher taught us before she died._

_One is all.  
__All is one._

_The world is All.  
__I am One._

_World, All.  
__I, One._

_

* * *

_

I, One  
Chapter Two: Fratricide

The heat forced waves in the atmosphere strong enough to blur his vision into a half-blind sea of meshing color. Shadowy figures loomed over his weak, heaving body, crimson-stained saliva oozing from their demonlike grins like corrosive venom. Their faces were repulsive; their dark spirit-like bodies glided through the air, circling him, their smirks reminding him of the vicious grin of Truth. The only light came from the never-ending fires dancing around him, taunting his weak spirit.

_So. This is Satan's lair. _

* * *

A small girl tucked the peach-colored curtain of hair behind her ears and glanced at the petite panda plush-toy on her dresser. It smiled back at her as pleasantly as always, but unsurprisingly did not help her mood, for it was already as jovial as it could possibly be. If she _were _any more cheerful, she surely would have either spontaneously combusted or blown up from all of the excitement. Today was something special—something that would change her life. Or, at least, it had _better_. 

Suppressing herself from bouncing on the bed in a boisterous eruption of excitement, the 11-year-old gripped the pen tighter, squeezing it like a plush toy. She glanced downward at the journal before her, connected pen with paper, and freed her thoughts from the rusting chains that had confined them.

_can yu beleev it all mye studying of thos horribul boreing books it reely payde off any dae now ill be leeving this dirdee house and serching fore the man ive ben weiting fore and it wil all bee thankx too the grate cyience and art of alchemy_

_you know i shudent have but its not __**my**__ fawlt._

_i had too after all reely what did yu expect even xiao mei agrees i couldn't sit there and do nothing all my life so latr today ill see him in persun ill mete him fore thuh furst time and for the furst time he will be a part of our familee._

_oh and miss rosalind has ben a bit distunt fore thuh passed few yeeres, so i dont think shell care if i just up and leeve. after all, ive ben doing that aneeway, and thats not my fawlt either. _

_still i cant beleev thuh transmewtayshun workd so eezilee…_

…_on a hew-minn. _

The girl beamed, placed down her pen, threw a small bag over her shoulder and shuffled out of the house.

_

* * *

_

A throbbing vein protruded from her forehead as she reached onto the counter, violently ripped the knife from the frozen pig her husband had previously been beheading, and flung it directly at the Elric brother, who yelped and quickly ducked.

As the blade stuck straight into the wall behind him, Alphonse jumped up and shouted, "But Teacher! It's not my fault, I --!"

"SHUT IT!"

It was at that particular moment that fifty knives with dauntingly sharp blades were also hurled in his direction.

"AHHH!"

He dove.

"HEY! You could've killed me! And _you_!" the man cried, snapping his head in the direction of a giggling blonde in the corner. "You want me to be stabbed, too, Winry?!"

Izumi Curtis scoffed and folded her arms, walking forward. "And the next time you're two minutes late to training, Alphonse…" She twirled a knife in her right hand and menacingly bent back the blade with her forefinger. "…you'll be dodging _axes_ instead. Understand?"

"Yes ma'am…"

"Good." She dropped the bent knife. "You may very well be older now…but you're not too old to get your ass kicked by your teacher. Isn't that right, honey?"

Her husband, who was watching from the back, merely snorted and went back to work in another room.

Alphonse sighed, but also smiled simultaneously, in remembrance of old times; even back then Teacher had never been much of a forgiving woman.

There was a short pause. Izumi withdrew her other hand from her pocket, revealing dozens of small knives wedged between her fingers, and flung them at extraordinary speed straight at him.

Sighing again, Alphonse shook his head. Being attacked violently at the beginning of every training session was standard procedure these days. The alchemist clapped his hands together and slapped them at the wall behind him; the room's temperature rose to an alarming height, to the point where he, Teacher, and Winry were all able to see heat waves blurring the atmosphere. The knife on the ground that Teacher had previously bent began to melt away; the wallpaper bordering the room peeled off and fell to the floor.

Winry yelped and hurriedly shut her eyes.

Moments later when she opened them, the fifty or sixty knives that had been thrown at Alphonse all at once were disintegrated in a heap on the floor.

"Uh…Winry? Those were just the basics…" Al said, grinning sheepishly. "Using alchemy to concentrate the particles in the atmosphere into one particular spot to cause the oxidation of the knives, thus resulting in their rusting exponentially—"

"Alphonse!" Izumi announced, before the mechanic could reply to him. "You should not be talking on your last day of training; concentrate on the matter at hand." There was a pause. "If you pass this final test, I won't stop you this time from taking the State Alchemist exam."

Alphonse nodded firmly and quickly adopted a fighting stance, while Winry ran off to avoid being obliterated during the alchemical duel between student and teacher.

"We will, however, have to take this duel out in the back; if my husband catches wind that you are destroying his butchery, he'll use _you_ for meat instead of the pigs." Grinning, she moved toward the opposite end of the house, weaving past heaps of destroyed wallpaper, and creaked open the back door. "Afraid?"

Afraid? Teacher had certainly lost her mind if she thought he was "afraid" -- the final deciding factor on his strength was depending on this battle -- although admittedly the violent hammering of his heart against his chest spoke otherwise. Despite himself, Alphonse let a smile escape his lips as he analyzed the arena.

Six… Seven… Eight steps apart from opponent. Surroundings: greenery and woods to the left; containers of frozen meat to the right; in the back, the house; in the front, the opponent. Atmosphere: humid; cloudy. Other nearby humans/animals: none. Starting strategy: Dart into woods before opponent can strike and use the trees to begin an offensive alchemical attack.

All necessary precautions and analyzations had been made; to show he was ready, he looked forward and nodded firmly once.

"_We begin_!" both alchemists boomed.

Both clapped their hands together.

* * *

Roy Mustang reclined in his chair. Despite what he originally thought about the ranking, the occupation of a Fuhrer was absolutely no different than that of a State Alchemist or colonel. There was just as much paperwork and just as many decisions to make—the only difference being that no one had the authority any longer to dispatch orders to him. Which, considering the circumstances, was hardly beneficial; despite overwhelming support during his first few years in office, Roy was now fully aware that most of the lower-ranking members in his military were against the majority of the decisions he had made as Fuhrer, such as the unexplained evacuating and obliterating of Lior last year, although it had only been rebuilt four years prior to that. Even Armstrong had interjected: "But sir, the people of Lior are just getting back on their feet; don't you think --" 

"Evacuate the city and everything within a ten mile radius," Roy had repeated.

Well, he had good reason, and if anyone wanted to fuck with that, they could. Of course, "good reason" was his justification for almost everything these days, but he was damn fine with how things were being run. Screw the others.

"Ahh…" Reclining further in his chair, the alchemist kicked his feet up on his desk and shut his eyes. As far as he was concerned, it didn't matter now.

Recently, Roy had acquired loads of paperwork that had to be completed in order to officially accept the military's two newest State Alchemists: some tiny 10-year-old girl named Mei who was the daughter of a woman from the revolt in Lior over a decade ago, and a 21-year-old unknown man from who-knew-where.

"The military is losing its edge," he muttered, shaking his head at staring at the ceiling. Immobile though it was, he had found an interest in gaping at it from time to time whenever his workload increased.

Dammit. Not only did he have to do all that damn paperwork, but he still had to get someone to fix the military phones; the things only worked half the time… Or maybe with some luck he could convince Riza to do it all again…

Roy was still irritably going through his list of things to do when a quick knock came at the door.

"I brought you some coffee, sir."

Riza Hawkeye did not bother waiting for an answer, but instead casually swung open the door of the Fuhrer's office. "I also brought you this. It was in your mail."

In her hand was a magazine with a picture of three slim, nude women running excitedly on a beach, laughing and giggling, their assets protruding perkily from their chests.

"I assume they made a mistake by mailing this to you—surely they sent it to the wrong address. Right, _Fuhrer_ Mustang?" The unnecessary enunciation of the word "Fuhrer" was a mocking of his title, Roy understood. It was strange how he had grown to be the highest-ranking man in the military, yet Hawkeye, only a Lieutenant, still maintained her uncanny control over him whenever she pleased. Even stranger was how he still didn't mind.

"Well…" The 10-year-running Fuhrer scratched at the back of his neck sheepishly. "Actu-"

Angrily, before he could stop her, the lieutenant had flung the magazine on the floor, whipped out her gun, and shot twenty-four bullets straight through it, directly resulting in its complete illegibility and uselessness.

"You're welcome for the favor, sir."

_I wonder if King Bradley ever had to deal with this when he was Fuhrer…_

* * *

"Al! Did you pass?" 

Alphonse was elated when he finally exited the house of Izumi, grinning through his numerous cuts, bruises, bleedings, gashes and broken bones. "_Yeah! _I'll be taking the State Alchemy Exam tomorrow!_"_

The State Alchemy Exam.

It was a "great opportunity to improve one's alchemy." It was also a "great opportunity to observe the alchemy of others." The State Alchemy Exam was essentially a "great opportunity for alchemists to hone their skills, even if they do not pass."

But Alphonse Elric, more competent than most of the others who would be taking the exam (actually, _far_ more competent than _any_ of the others who would be taking it -- but of course Teacher had warned him against letting his modesty slip), would not be taking it for any of those reasons. Being able to become a State Alchemist meant being able to take Edward's old position. And being able to do that meant being able to come one step closer to bringing him back.

And being able to do that meant being able to come one step closer to _destroying him_.

Ever since he had regained his human body, ever since he first began feeling like a real person again, ever since he first realized his determination to once again meet his older brother, he had regretted every last bit of how things had turned out with Edward. There was no way he should have let Ed to send himself to the other side of the Gate.

And now, more than ever, all Alphonse really, truly wanted was to see him again. To see his only remaining family member. To see the one who saved his life time and time again… But at the same time, he knew that he would be better off if he never met his brother again; he didn't know what he would do if he did. Perhaps he would stab him in the heart for leaving him for dead, as he saw it; maybe he would throttle him for the loneliness he had caused; maybe he would just kill himself and save himself the pain of confronting the man who had forsaken him. Or -- he would hate to do it in front of Winry -- maybe he would just destroy and dam and let the waterfall of tears burst from behind his struggling eye sockets.

Alphonse, the one who they all knew as the cute, naïve little boy, could only smile in remembrance of the concept. He was now a man in his early twenties, and as such, _his_ thoughts were _his_ thoughts, regardless of the fact that few people had ceased to think of him as the same child that used to sleep and dream peacefully at night -- that innocent nine-year-old, happily blind to the world's tragedies.

The first year after Edward sent himself to the other side of the Gate, Alphonse had learned to cope. He was aware that his brother had only done it for his benefit, and no one had to remind him of that. In fact, he probably would have told anyone who would listen about the adventures he and his brother had undergone "back in the day," as they said -- if, of course, he could have recalled them himself.

The year after that, Alphonse had discovered the key to the treasure chest that held the true meaning of the word "alone." Essentially, he had no one—not even Winry, whose occupation as an infamous auto-mail mechanic had begun to take her to other areas of the world at the time.

The following year, things changed. For the worse. He realized that Edward's seeming act of courage and love was a trap—one meant to cause him pain, distress, loneliness, and ultimately death. The realization manifested when Alphonse devoured an overdose of alchemical drugs one night after having not spoken with the outside world for two entire years. Prior to that day, the alchemist had locked himself in Pinako's old house (she'd passed away three years after Edward left), where he had remained huddled, alone in a small corner of the living room each day and night, and where he refused to leave the house for any other reason than for food or water. After a year of this behavior, his sanity had found extinction; the warm feeling in his heart had stalked off, leaving a cold soul to reside in a cold and lonely body.

"His overdose would have been suicide if you had not returned home to stop him," he had overheard the head doctor of Amestris inform Winry, who had -- in a rush so frantic that Alphonse would have thought she was rushing to the bathroom after devouring a gallon of laxatives -- driven him to the infamous doctor and, as he was later told, saved his life. After returning to Pinako's house and attempting to overdose for a second time, he had frozen in his tracks and slammed the tablets on the table, realizing with alarming abruptness that he should not be taking out his frustration on himself, but on the person who caused it—the one who he called "Brother."

"Brother" had wanted to kill him. That was it. _That_ was why he left: to force Al into a state of extreme depression and loneliness, so that he would eventually commit suicide one way or another. But no. Edward would not get his way, now or ever; Alphonse would see to it that the tables turned -- and he would see to it that the pointed end of the table was aiming toward _Edward_ this time.

Alphonse had grinned to himself, and with a sudden fanatical burst of lunatic inspiration muttered the words that he should have long since told himself: _**"**__**Edward. Will. Die.**__**"**_

He now wasn't sure if it was the insanity or the drugs talking, or whether he had truly meant it. Either way, however, he would be damned if he let the situation control him. All he wanted, all he needed now was the purity of mind and soul -- another lesson that Teacher had taught him. (According to her, it was, in fact, the absence of those essential purities that caused his Alchemy training to progress so slowly. Of course, according to her, he had now officially passed her in Alchemical strength -- but then again, she added, he should have passed her a _long_ time ago.)

What had happened to him?

_It was those god-forsaken drugs…_ he mumbled internally.

Yes, the drugs. Just another lie.

It wasn't the drugs -- they were, after all, only drugs that he had used for the distinct purpose of adding more of the necessary chemicals to his brain that he had lost since he began living alone in Pinako's old home. To his understanding, they were called "anti-depressants," or something similar to the like.

No, it wasn't the drugs -- it was Brother.

A light current of air swept by, ruffling Alphonse's golden hair. Winry, smiling faintly, pivoted her head and fixed her cerulean eyes on him for a while. Seeing her crystal-like eyes broke him from his thoughts. "Hey, Al? Do you -- do you remember that time a few years ago, when I found you awake in the middle of the night?" She and Alphonse were positioned in the middle of the yard before Pinako's house, the flowing grass tickling their cheeks as they lay staring at the empty sky. "You were crying..."

"I wasn't _crying_, you know. It -- just looked that way because of the way the moonlight was hitting my face…"

"Oh, right," Winry sighed. "I, um… I lied, you know." He looked over at her, noticed the pearly bits of sparkling liquid forming around the corners of her eyes, and opened his mouth to tell her she didn't have to go through with the story, but she interrupted him. "Remember that night, when you asked me if we had ever had a connection like the one you had with Ed?" When he opened his mouth again, she disregarded his second attempt to end the conversation, and breathed, "I lied when I said no."

Alphonse smiled. He supposed it was her who had been his antidrug. "I already knew that, Winry."

_It had begun almost indistinguishably, mixed together with the delicate, uncertain sounds of coughs, snores, creaks, and other disturbances of the otherwise still night, barely audible through the wall dividing them. It began almost indistinguishably, blended together with the sounds of nature calling out to itself in the dark. It began almost indistinguishably, jumbled together with even the delicate beat of her own heart. It began almost indistinguishably -- but as the clock struck three, the night took a jolt forward, and suddenly the sounds in Alphonse's room no longer fit in with the natural chords and the instinctive melody of the night; suddenly the sounds in the room beside her dissonantly clashed with those of the outside world. _

_They were whimpers. Whimpers and restless hiccups. Realistically, they were only minuscule, hardly significant noises -- but for her, it was enough to awaken her weary mind and force her equally weary legs to swing over the edge of the bed and carry herself into the hallway. She knew better than to take her time walking; Alphonse would have heard her approaching and had supple time to prepare himself and pretend that nothing was wrong. But no, this was the fourth time this week that she had caught him doing this, and it needed to be the last. _

_It did not require more than a second to swing the door open and spot him, who sat not on or even remotely near the bed that she had provided, but instead in the far corner of the room, cuddling together with his shadow, his eyes fixed on the floor beneath him. He did not bother to look up when she approached him, nor did he give any indication that he was even aware of her having entered the room._

"_Al…" It was only a whisper, but in the stillness of the atmosphere she was more than audible. The young man before her, who had only just recently acquired his human body from the Gate, only continued gazing at the floor in an almost unconscious, unseeing state. Even in the darkness she could see the dried streams of tears extended down his face. _

"_Alphonse," she repeated, this time even more softly. "You…" _

"_Tell me." His voice was hard, stiff, as though he had been wanting to ask it for weeks. "Please, __tell me.__" Alphonse lifted his head, revealing wet, baggy eyes. "Why is it, Winry," he asked, "why is it… that I have no memories?" _

_The question seemed so random, so out of the blue, that she could only stare at him for a while. _

"_Was that the 'equivalent exchange' that was made? For me to regain this body…I had to lose all memories, all family, all friendships? My mind doesn't let up, Winry -- all it does is flood itself with never-ending questions about my past -- about my purpose. A million times now you've told me the story of what it was like for me to be an armor suit… but I don't feel any different." He had spat out the last part, as though he couldn't bear to hear himself say the words. There was a silent moment before he continued. "Having no memories… It's like being devoid of life."_

_Winry moved forward to sit beside him. She extended her hand to Alphonse's face and delicately touched his cheek. "You once told me, before you regained your body, that that whole 'equivalent exchange' thing you guys always talked about…was a mere pretense made to motivate people to live a life dedicated to alchemy. You said… it was a deception; something we should get past, and that we should realize that life," she smiled, "is merely life. There is little equality, and little fairness. You told me all this, Al…" _

"_But I probably also --"_

"_Besides…" Her hand dropped to the floor. "You __do__ have memories -- or else you wouldn't know what Equivalent Exchange __was__… And even if you don't, we'll just start from here. Think of this moment as…memory number one." She took a moment to wipe the tears dripping off his now slightly bearded chin. "I have to tell you, though, I'm sort of… __glad__ to see you cry, Al. You -- and Ed too -- you never used to be able to express your emotions like that, so…I always had to do all the crying __for__ you." A soft chuckle escaped her lips. "You two were actually a lot more similar than we knew… Even without the proper memories," she said, "you probably already know how close the bond between you and Ed was -- no; you know how close it __is__."_

_At this Alphonse smiled, and the conversation eventually died out and was replaced with silence. Winry soon became aware of how late it was; it seemed that even the previously chirping crickets outside had crashed and begun to slumber. After a few minutes of remaining there, the mechanic arose from the floor, ready to return to her bed -- but was stopped when he grabbed her hand. _

"_Winry? Was there ever…anything like that between you and me?" _

_She whipped around to stare at him, expecting him to be joking, hoping his lips were curled into a smirk. Neither were true; Al stared sincerely back up at her, a grave glint in his golden-colored eyes._

"_Not… that I recall, Al."_

_She quickly averted her gaze, breaking eye contact, before walking at a brisk pace to the door._

Alphonse sensed her staring at him, and smiled. "I already knew it was a lie," he said again, "but you shouldn't worry so much about what happened back then… Especially since…"

Her hand was warm, brushing over his lips with a touch gentler than the light breeze that the sky was throwing at him. As she extended her index finger across his mouth as if to whisper, "Don't say it, Al," there was a quickening of his heart beat and a surge of passion in his chest.

_My anti-drug._

He sat up, lifting his back off the ground, and turned around to see the blonde mechanic staring at him. "What is it?"

In those few seconds, her gentle face had morphed into a look of utter shock, her eyes widened dramatically. He could hear her gulp as she pointed a trembling finger straight at him. "A-Al? What…the hell…is that marking on your back?"

"Winry… What are you talking about?"

Obviously the girl had lost her mind; there couldn't have been any marking on his back -- certainly not the type that she probably thought she saw. Alphonse followed the direction toward which her trembling finger pointed, until his head was pivoted backwards.

He saw nothing. Or, more accurately, he was not able to see anything from such an unnatural angle.

"Oh my god…" Winry's voice was shaking. "Al… isn't that…a transmutation circle?"

"A _what_?!"

"Al! Go inside, look in the mirror!"

"But—"

" _Hurry!!_"

She was up on her feet before he even noticed. "NOW!" The woman grabbed his wrist, jerked him off the ground on which they had been sitting, and tore back into the house, refusing to release him.

"Winry, what are you doing! Stop! There's nothing there!"

But she wouldn't stop. As he tried to keep up with her frantic movement, Al stumbled so often that Winry ended up effectively dragging him into the house. She kicked open the front door, now dragging him by the ankles, and burst up the stairs, his body slamming on each step as she ascended.

"WIN—_OW!_—RY! YOU'RE—_OW!_—HURTING—_OW!—_ME!"

"I WOULDN'T _HAVE_ TO IF YOU DIDN'T _WEIGH_ THREE THOUSAND POUNDS!"

"WHAT'S WITH THE SUDDEN—_OW!!—_RUSH!?"

"THAT THING—_I'VE SEEN IT BEFORE—_"

She reached her room, swung the door shut, and bodily chucked her childhood friend through the air so that he landed directly in front of her six-foot-tall mirror. "_Look!_ _Do you see it?!_"

Alphonse stood amazed, staring incredulously at the mirror reflecting an alchemical symbol on his back. It was a circle with an intricate pattern of smaller symbols written inside it, and the entire image gleamed with a dauntingly bright blue glow, shining completely through his clothing.

He was sweating: due to yet another lesson with Teacher, he knew precisely what this symbol was.

"W- Winry…" He slowly pivoted his head to face her. "This is…"

There was an explosion somewhere in the hallway leading to the room; in the impact, the door burst off its hinges and flew directly into the wall across from it. Dust and smoke filed into the air, preventing anything from being seen with an accurate eye. Winry broke into a fit of violent coughs.

"Who- Who's there?" she managed to choke out.

"Winry! The symbol -- it's a portal! The remnant of the Philosopher's Stone in my soul from three years ago must have allowed --" Al broke off, waving away the gases from his face. "_Winry_, _RUN! Someone's here!_"

Behind the dust, a shadowy, human-shaped figure was becoming clearer: someone _was_ there. The blonde mechanic yelped something unfathomable and picked up a chair to smash open her window, but it was too late.

Someone short, with shoulder-length, loose hair was approaching, becoming clearer and clearer with each step. Someone with golden-colored, intense eyes. Someone --

Alphonse made a sharp intake of breath.

Winry froze and looked closer, eyes widened. "You… It's…"

The smoke was gone.

" _ED!_"

The ex-alchemist's eyes darted from Al to Winry. He sighed, disappointed. "Haven't you two changed at _all_?"

* * *

Author's Note- Happy New Year to everyone on FFN! 


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